


October 15, 2000 - May 20, 2001

by R00M203



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Sadness, idk everything i write is sad we know this, lets cry about scully, pregnancy journal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00M203/pseuds/R00M203
Summary: let's say scully kept a pregnancy journal
Relationships: Dana Scully & William | Jackson Van De Kamp, Dana Scully/Margaret Scully, Dana Scully/Other(s), Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, John Doggett/Dana Scully
Comments: 32
Kudos: 96





	1. 10-15-2000

**Author's Note:**

> look, i know these sound nothing like her dramatic ass journaling from momento mori or emily so just pretend with me that scully's feeling more ~casual~ here idfk. here's two entries to start. let me know if you like this bc i truly have no idea how far i'll go with it. 
> 
> big thanks to my favorite ladies @stellaxxgibson @stelgibson and @special_tramp for the beta <3

My last entry in this journal is from Africa. The one before that, the hospital. Funny, they’re all addressed to Mulder. 

Writing has been proven to improve immune function. I’ve read studies where journaling was determined effective in lessening symptoms of seemingly non-emotion related ailments such as asthma and rheumatoid arthritis. 

I’ve only written as a means of therapy a few times in my life. When I did, I poured hours and hours into perfecting every sentence; every word; every letter. Everything needed meaning and weight. Missy was constantly writing, scribbling more accurately, and I never understood how she could care so little about the importance of what she put on paper. I’m going to try my best to let go and just _write._ The way she would. It’s probably what I should have been doing all along. God, I miss her. 

I think journaling during this ~~horri~~ difficult time will be good for me, if not for processing emotions, then for documenting this pregnancy. If anything is wrong, I can look back and identify indications much more efficiently. 

I’m currently 8 weeks. My symptoms include:

  * Fatigue
  * Tender breasts
  * Mild Constipation
  * ~~Mild~~ Extreme Nausea 



The smell of most foods triggers intense bouts of vomiting. This morning Dogget burned his coffee and I had to sneak away to curl up on the bathroom floor three times. He probably thought I was being a bitch, as usual. ~~It made me miss the way Mul~~

I have some light spotting, but my doctor assures me it’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m keeping a close eye on it nonetheless. I finally got a hold of Mom, and she’s coming with me to my 9 week sonogram. She didn’t ask any questions. I could tell she wanted to. I’m grateful she didn’t. It was hard enough to get through the phone call without bursting into tears. 

I’ve been having trouble controlling my emotions lately. Maybe I should add that to my symptom list. I’ll underline. It’s been mostly sudden aggression and crying. Doggett has gotten the brunt of my outbursts. Anytime he so much as breathes I ~~compare it to~~ feel overwhelmed. He hums for exactly an hour and a half after lunch, he keeps the blinds half closed even after I open them when I get in, and he leaves fifteen minutes early every day. ~~Mul~~ I’m used to a quiet office. I like the blinds open. And ~~we~~ I always leave half an hour late.

Anyway, I suppose I’ve been spending most of my time in the bathroom. Vomiting or crying or both. I’ll write again after the sonogram and update how I’m feeling, hopefully at least one of those symptoms will have eased up . 

I think journaling will also be a good investigative resource as we search for Mulder. Since the desert, there have been no new leads. I don’t know what to make of anything right now, but I know I’m not going to stop looking. I can’t. 


	2. 10-22-2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> entry # 2 <3

I’m surprised I’m actually writing again. The sonogram appointment was ~~painf~~ difficult, to say the least. All those questions Mom censored on the phone came out. I can’t really blame her. She wanted to know if I was seeing someone, if I’d been having more fertility treatments, if I’d been praying. She most emphatically wanted to know what happened to Mulder. I didn’t have a single answer that satisfied her. But of course, I don’t have any answers that satisfy myself.

Honestly, I think I had convinced myself on some level (even with the blood test and numerous coinciding symptoms) that this was all some big mistake. But then I heard the heartbeat. I’m a doctor, I deal with life and death on a daily basis and at the sound of something on a machine I burst into inconsolable tears. I was heaving on the fucking table. ~~All I wanted was Mulder. I needed his strength around me. To ground me. I feel like I’m floating above myself, watching helplessly as chaos unfolds. In trusting him and only him I think I’ve forgotten how to trust myself. I’ve forgotten how to trust not only my judgment but my ability to recover without~~ I couldn’t stop. The doctor left the room so Mom could calm me down. She rubbed my back and coached my breathing like she used to when I was a kid. It was probably twenty minutes before I could breathe normally again. I’m still so embarrassed. She didn’t ask any other questions after that. 

~~But still I~~ ~~Even though I know~~ I just have a bad feeling. No matter how ‘normal’ my doctors say this pregnancy is, I can’t help but feel this overwhelming sense that something is wrong. Without my ova, not only would it be impossible to get pregnant, but I would have gone into early menopause. My periods were irregular and definitely different, but never gone. With that knowledge I would normally assume that all my ova weren’t actually removed. But Mulder found them, and they tested positive to my DNA. When the IVF didn’t work I was sure that, whether or not I had any ova, getting pregnant was impossible. ~~Of course short of the treatments, Mulder and I never used protection, so I suppose that’s a viable possibility. The night in Hollywood checks out timing wise. Could have been the morning. It doesn’t matter I just can’t stop thinking about~~

When it’s other people’s lives, or cases, I’ve always used logic to ground me. But when it comes to my own life, I’m a catastrophizer. Mulder was the only one who could successfully talk me out of my spirals. I remember after I was abducted, I would wake up every time a car light shone through my window in a panic. I was positive it was going to happen again. Mulder would sit on the phone with me, sometimes until morning, spouting statistics about how when abductees are abducted again they feel a calling to a certain spot, so, until I felt inexplicably drawn somewhere I didn’t need to be worried. I can feel my chest tightening. This is hard to write about. ~~Maybe it’s the remnant memory of that event, maybe it’s an ache for h~~

My symptoms haven’t changed much. I’m 9 weeks now. The mild constipation has gone away, but the nausea has only increased. My breasts are so tender I can barely put a bra on. Doggett thinks I have the flu and has been urging me to go to the doctor. He keeps crediting his “strong immune system” as to why he hasn’t caught it yet. Funny. The spotting has gone away as well, as I suspected. 

Mom is stopping by every other day with food, teas, and baby things. I keep telling her I don’t want any bibs or toys – not yet anyway. It’s too early and, with my history, I know there is a likely chance that I won’t be able to carry this pregnancy to term. I can see it makes her uncomfortable, when I say that, but I have to be realistic. It’s the only way I’ll get through any of this. 

Still no new leads on Mulder. I have to write about him. I keep trying, but ultimately surrender, returning to the objective. I’m scared that if I allow myself to fully feel this pain, to sink into the depths of this emotion, I’ll be consumed by it. Here come the tears. I can hear Missy’s voice echoing throughout my mind. ‘It’s not weak to let yourself cry, Dana.’ Why didn’t I listen to her more?

I go to his apartment every night. I’m here now. I listen to his voicemail, feed the fish, and fall asleep in his bed. I pretend I listen as an investigative tool, but really I just need to hear his voice. His bed is starting to lose his smell. I miss him so much every part of my body aches. After all I’ve endured, who knew his absence would be the most unbearable pain.

I keep thinking that if any hint to where he is is going to reveal itself, it’s going to be here, in his home. Or at work, in the basement. There’s a part of him that is still present in these places. Although, I can feel him disappearing more and more every day. I can feel him slipping through my fingers by the minute. 

I’m visiting the three stooges tomorrow and see if they can help me make some headway. I’m looking forward to seeing them actually, it’ll feel like old times. God, how often I’ve said that to Mulder. 

I feel like life is moving unbearably fast, while simultaneously completely still. I think when–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i have a third entry that makes the cut off make sense. here's your routine end of fic hug.


	3. 10-29-2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> journal entry in the hospital after roadrunner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another one! thanks for placating me while i play with these <3 
> 
> miss @special_tramp saved my life w some hot beta.

Looks like I never finished that last entry. Mom called, again, and I got distracted, again. God, I’ve never been so unproductive in my life. I’m writing in the hospital. I’ve been here for nearly a week but it feels like a month. Doggett was supposed to pick me up an hour ago. He said he’s in traffic, so I figured I’d write to feel like I’ve accomplished something. 

10 weeks. Still nauseous. Still emotional. Now healing from the removal of a parasite in my spine. Miraculously,  ~~ the bab ~~ the pregnancy is okay. It was close there for a minute. My vitals were low and I lost a lot of blood. ~~ But we’re ~~ Luckily, I’m fine. 

I’m feeling  ~~frustrated upset~~ angry. I’m pissed actually. That this bullshit keeps happening. Over and over and over. Statistically, considering the miniscule number of active cults in the US, the probability of an FBI agent encountering countless in a career spanning only eight years is low... And yet here I am, hospitalized again, because of one of these groups of horribly disturbed people. Few and far between in this country… unless you’re me, apparently. That’s how most anomalies seem to affect me, though: Consistently.

I didn’t want to tell Mom, but she’s been so attentive lately I couldn’t get around it. She wants me to quit. She asked why I continue to put myself ~~and my ch~~ in danger. I told her that with abandoning the X-Files, I lose all hope in finding Mulder with it. The X-Files ~~and thi his this baby~~ are my last connection to him. She didn’t push the subject. Luckily, Bill doesn’t know anything of what’s been going on, or he’d be on my ass too. 

Doggett really pulled through. I don’t trust him completely, but I respect him more. He doesn’t understand why I kept him out of this case. He doesn’t understand why I put myself at risk. Although, I don’t either, not entirely. Maybe I like my independence. Maybe I’m being self destructive. Maybe I don’t want a partner if it’s not the partner I’ve had for the past eight years. 

I don’t know how to cope with any of this. Objectively, I think I work better alone, but Mulder knew my history. He ~~is~~ was a part of my history.

Normally in cases like this, when I’ve been attacked, I stay fairly calm. Even in the face of pure evil, my rationale always superseded whatever force threatened me or a victim. Things were different this time... I was screaming, I’m not sure if I’ve ever screamed like that, kicking and pulling, tied to the bed. Threatening every single one of them. It was as if something awoke in me. Some kind of dormant rage that had been brewing for years.  ~~ Maybe I was instinctively more protective because of the pregnancy. There was a higher stake this time but it felt primitive, like a desperate need to preserve, something I haven’t experienced when it was only my life on the line.  ~~

I keep thinking about Gerry Schnauz from four years ago. I talked to him so calmly. I explained to him kindly and empathetically that he needed help. I comforted him as I sat tied to a chair while he attempted to give me an ice pick lobotomy. I remember writing in that case report, ‘to pursue monsters we must understand them.’ I was scared that venturing into his mind allowed him access to mine. That pinpointing the root of his savior complex, identifying his unwillingness to believe that it was his father who hurt his sister, not the ‘howlers,’ connected us in some way. I called Mulder that night and he came over. He stayed until morning. I don’t remember talking, in fact I think I might have fallen asleep almost immediately. ~~But he stayed the whole time. I fell asleep on the couch, on his lap, and woke in the same exact place. He sat there, still, all night, despite how antsy I know he gets, and how uncomfortable he must have been. I’m normally a restless sleeper, tossing and turning all night. I couldn’t believe that I slept so calmly and peacefully for eight full hours. I didn’t even have any nightmares. He helped me find stillness. And maybe I helped him too. I miss the feeling of his warmth next to me at night. I wish I could call him to sit with me tonight. I wish I coul~~

I’ve spent the last week trying to understand how a group of seemingly normal people could worship a creature to such an extent that they’d grotesquely attack and murder innocent people for it. They believe they worshipped Christ. That that thing was a second coming. I told them I was going to have a baby, something pure, in an attempt to appeal to their empathy. I told them about a miracle...  my miracle. I don’t even have the courage to write about it any further. 

I’m tired, and I don’t want to go home tonight. I don’t feel like my mind is my own right now. Maybe I’ll call Mom if I can’t take it, but I really need quiet. I just can’t bear the quiet alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hug <333


End file.
